


I'M Better With A Pen

by Crazyartdad



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Alternate Universe - Moulin Rouge!, But like pretty off script, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Murdoc fucking hates his brother, Noodle is a little star, Sex, Slow Build, Stuart is awkward and gay, Things will get sad, We will get their at some point I promise, and full of anxiety, but for now, how the fuck do you do tags?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-15 15:53:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11809245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crazyartdad/pseuds/Crazyartdad
Summary: Stuart Leaves England to pursue a writing career in Paris despite a disruptive illness eating him away. But honestly? Nothing could truly be better





	1. Chapter 1

It's been two months, Two months dragging on in a crappy factory-turned-duplex housing. Two months of being the starving artist he always dreamed about, bidding his parents farewell before packing off to Paris with nothing but a dream of writing the perfections of love and beauty.

But reality isn't what you always hope to be.

The smog and stench flooded his imagery of the city. Leaving his hope to decay in a jar on a shelf, nothing but the harsh reality to keep his empty stomach company.

Sitting at his typewriter he realized spending all his money on buying on this hovel wasn't one of his best ideas. A mistake made from excitement had now shown its grave outcome, A penniless writer on a quest for God knows what anymore.

He could only imagine what his father must feel. It still felt like yesterday when he told his father of his plans, the argument still fresh in his mind.

“Your wasting your time, what do you expect when you go across the ocean in this fairy tale land of yours Stuart?! You’d worry your mother sick- You're still sick Stuart, what’s to happen to you if something happens? If you don't have enough care!? You’d be wasting your life hunch over a typewriter!”

He could still see the redness in his face, could see the harden eyes as his fingers trembled along the keys. Tears threatened to slip from his black out eyes as a dull ache forms around his temples. He grows frustrated by the sloppy mistakes of his nervous hands, banging the keys in a fit as the paper is ripped away from the device. He sat, watching as white shreds fell to his feet while trying to catch his breath, pleading for nothing more than to rid the obnoxious voice from his memory.

He was sick. Ever since the accident he was well away of the threat on his mortality, the excessive coddling and careful whispers of relatives, everything made him all to aware of the actuality of his treatment being nothing more than a way to cope. But he couldn't be hospitalized in his house for the rest of his life. He stole enough insulin to dull whatever pain, he should be fine, though it's something that settles in the back of his head. 

He’s old enough to care for himself, It was a good- no, a great decision to leave no matter what anyone says. Life's short and despite the shitty circumstances, he's willing to put in the effort to do what he wants and damn it! he’s gonna be happy about it!

Running his hands through his brown locks he’s suddenly all to aware of the page he has to redo. Stuart curses silently as he reaches across to the steadily declining stack of paper, ringing the single sheet through the roller and adjusting the knob.

It takes awhile to fall back into his steady rhythm, with all the noise that could be heard through the paper thin walls, it was a miracle anything could be done. It was only when he tries to recall the next line of the torn masterpiece at his feet is when he goes in search of the written draft.

The constant rumble of noise suspiciously grows louder as he searches under his bed for his notebook, paying no mind until yelling start to ensure. 

“Maybe it's just the couple from 103” He tells himself, pushing up his sleeves as he flipped through rumbled pages, but when a shrill voice of a whistle shot through the hall he knew something wasn't right.

Especially the male that hurled himself into the room.

Both males locked eyes in fright, one more clear on the face then the other as Stuart clung close to the wall.

The man's eyes harden as Stuart catches a glimpse of them through his fringe, His breath hitching as the other opens his mouth to speak. Another blow from the whistle cuts his sentence to a small curse as he darts to the closet, throwing aside Stuarts small collection of clothes, knocking on sections till he find, to Stuart's surprise, a false wall.

“H-hey!, You can’t jus-” Stuart didn't know what he expected from himself as he pipes up from across the room, watching the stocky frame hide away a suitcase of God knows what. As the criminal in question places the false wall back on he scrambles over to the towering Brunette, closing his firsts around the collar of his shirt.

“Listen freak and listen good!” he starts in an angry whisper. “My plan’s already shit now that you're here and i'm not gonna sit and let you fuck it up any more” He pulls a knife from his pocket and holds it steadily close to Stu’s neck in warning as the door knocks.

“I'm going to the fire escape and if you say anything, i'll have my way of getting back at you- ya hear?” The Stranger watches his black orbs glisten as his Adam's apple bobs in a nervous gulp.

“This is the police!”

His grip tightens as he waits for Stuart's response.

“J-Jus, Just a second!” Stuart calls out to them, relieved at the absence of pressure at his neck as the mug leaves to scutter out the window. Anxiety swells as the knock echoed through the complex, making his hands sweaty as he reaches for the knob. 

Three men in uniform pool into his room, Two men of bulky frame,seeming to be brothers by the similar features they shared start to short though his room. Completely ignoring him as a tall blond with a sharp nose stares him down with icy eyes.

“Where is he?” He says with deadpan knowledge.

This is it, I'm dead. I can't fucking lie what made me think I could do this, shit what do I do What do I DO. Fuck I should've listened to my dad.

“He’s on the s’cape” Stuart says, choking on his own words in fright. The icy glare softens with a sigh and the two men groan, shaking their heads in shame.

“Nice to know I can trust this side of the building, Typical fucking English” The man in question croaks from the window, climbing though with disappointment in his bagged eyes.

Stuart stands by the door, as the headache builds even more noticeable to not only him but everyone else as he tried to piece together exactly, what the hell was going on.

“Hannibal” The criminal reveals himself as he makes his way to the closet, pulling back out the suitcase. “That's, Louis, Hugo and pretty one’s Dan” Hannibal finishes introducing as he brings out a bottle of scotch from the case, only adding more questions to the poor simple minded writer.

“I still, I don't, how-”

Searching around the cupboards he finds himself some glasses and pours one for Stuart and himself. “I'm gonna be talkin so shut yer yap and listen up” He signals the dismissal of the three men and proceeds to make his way over. Shoving the man to a sitting position on his bed as he presses the glass to his palm.

Stuart looks to the glass in question, quickly shutting his mouth as it was no use to form sentences anyway. 

Hannibal struts back to Stuarts desk and shoots back a deep gulp of the burning liquid before speaking. 

“Now- back to business.” He pauses, making a face from the drink. “This ‘s a test for newcomers, which you horribly failed might I add, but you're in a special position that's keeping your ass from being kicked to the street.” Hannibal pauses to watch the scared look distort to one of confusion. “Ya see here, not many come with full cash to- Completely buy the place, they mostly take up a shark offer, ya know? Pay rent much like a bully stealing lunch money, but lucky you, you don't gotta go through that process. I like that”

“I should be throwing your ass out” He says, chuckling at the quietness from Stuart. “But you seem to follow rules pretty well so imma keep ya around. But this int no free ride kid, I still run this place and I need Caches time ta time, got it?” 

He leans against the desk taking another drink of his scotch.

“Whats up wit the eyes?” He asks after getting a full look at the man

“8 fra’tures…?”

“Freaky...And the papers? What are ya? Detective, Business guy?”

“Writer...Poetry..”

“Pfft, Lemme guess Bohemian Revolutionist? Hoping to make the world beautiful with the freedom of Beauty and Love?” He says waving his hand around in emphasis 

“y-Yeah” Stuart says with a smile, “Finally someone gets it” he tells himself

“Well good luck, only thing beautiful here is a good drink and the closest thing to love is cheap proposition” He watches the face fall with a smile as he reads over a rouge paper from over the brim of his glass. 

“.....” Hannibal halts his drink, continuing to look over the flowing words stretched along the stark parchment.

He was never one for a musical taste, let alone poetry but something about the bold ink on white made a melody in his head, each syllable, every vowel, all the words seemed to fit. Telling a story while simultaneously making no sense at all. It was oddly perfect

Just then, an idea starts to form.

“....But never say never, am I right?” he adds, hopping away from the desk with a strange new attitude.


	2. A Deal With A Snake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is what he wanted, Right?
> 
> A chance to do things his way, A freeing opportunity to grow as a freelance writer?, Party, make friends, Turn dreams into living inspiration?
> 
> Why does it feel wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who wants so more?

His amount of Charisma was oddly abundant as Hannibal clasped his shoulders. He had him agreeing before he could even blink, leaving with a solid wave and a promise to meet soon

****  
“Too soon” Stuart thought as he stood in front of the door named access roof, nervous of getting himself into more trouble than his life was worth. He stilled frozen in his fitted suit with a hand towards the door, rethinking any other major life decisions that could of veered him away from this moment right now. 

Lets just pack it up maybe dying in the streets would be better

The thought of turning back to the stairs for his seedy little hole in the wall sounded all to pleasant, then the door opened with a rush. Stuart bowed his head, clutching at the pulsing throb from forced contact while the man stared him down. Face contorted with confusion it took the male slightly longer to identify the groaning mess through his haze of booze before he realized the black stare looking back at him.

“Hey!, it's you!” Hannibal say with a clap to his shoulder. 

“I was on my way out, but this is too important” He starts to lead the man up the damaged stone steps pulling him just a little too close for Stuart's comfort that he could taste the alcohol on the guy’s breath.

Reaching the top to the metal door he felt open breeze as the metal screeched across the cement roof. It was…..sort of breath taking, but that could be the stairs talking as it was a long way up. The height reached so far that he could view all of Paris in its glamour through the twilight. The smog was all but hidden, casting an orange sunset to slowly lower behind the high rising mark of the city making room for the moon to arrive. The tower was realy something...

His gaze with interrupted by a spark of light around him, light bulbs were hung along clothing wires as one of Hannibal's goons stepped off a chair from starting them. The lot was lived in, Chairs and tables, boxes, trunks, all sorts of entertainment littered around, stolen sighs rested on the wall as decor and broken bottles occupied the floor with an array of cigarette buds. It was the sight of a party massacre.

Hannibal tugged him along to an abandoned table it was when he sat down did he notice a familiar face. The ice blue eyes peer across the disarrayed lot as he flipped a paper open. He gave a glance but nothing more as he went back to read the daily article of official journalism leaving his cigarette to burn out in his hand. 

Stuart looks to the glass placed in front of him while Hannibal fills it with a dark liquor, watching him sit to nestle the bottle by his side.

“So, whaddya name that?”

“I...haven't givin it named actually.... Its pretty recent, kinda raw?”

“Now i'm not an expert at the crap people like you make, but obviously there is a story”

“Ahh...um...well it's supposed to be read by two people ya see the first verse-” Stuart starts to stumble over his words, growing quieter by each gulp of whiskey the male lets down his throat.

“D-Dont trouble me with nonsense, just gimme, something blackie” Hannibal slurs as he sets the bottle down.

She shouldn't mean anything to him anymore, not after what she did. Yet every so often tears would threaten to prick in the corners of his eyes after each telling of the story. Like it or not she was his best friend, and leaving her hurt, as much as he wants to say it didn't. The piece was personal and he used to dread the thought of someone reading it but now?, it wasn't so bad. At least not as bad as he thought it would feel. But talking about it was something different.

“Any time now”

The glass in his hand suddenly looked all too promising.

****  
“So then… then Id give her the Codeine tablets cuase...well I wannta keep er around, she was my friend since forevah and I figure that this could be our fing.. But then my parents talked about marriage things got outta hand..”

“She leave ya?”

“More like fuck the next bloke she saw, steal my shit and leave wit em”

Hannibal laughs roughly and refilled Stuarts glass. 

“Never get to comfortable” He says with a sloppy grin watching as the night set black behind each other. 

“So what's this sickness?”

“No one really knows, got ever since I got me eyes”

“Is it as fucking ugly as that accent of yours?” Stuart snorts into his drink causing the other to go into a fit of laughter as Dan scoffed from the couch.

Calming down from their high Hannibal lights a cigarette offering one to the half wit across from him, watching him take it tentatively while he lit another It was then that Stuart notice the sky once more. Stardust was the first thing to mind. The sky was dusted with glitter the swirled patterns reaching farther than he could even imagine. It made him feel small, sad even, thinking he could never make something sound as beautiful as the image in front of him. 

“I like your stuff” Hannibal pipes up though a cloud of smoke.

“Again I don't know shit about it..but i like it and I think others are gonna like it”

Stuart stayed quiet, thinking over the actuality of his opinion.

“An I know someone who can get that out there, but if you wan it.. ya gotta do something for me” 

“I don't know, I don't-”

“I'm not askin ya ta smuggle or do any illegal shit, just promise me a seat once ya get big”

 

This is what he wanted, right?..

it wasn't to hard to say yes, to be his friend.. then why did it feel so heavy to shake his hand?


	3. Child Labor Laws

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “oh..I decided to learn some of the language when learning about haiku’s, although in all seriousness Japanese was… a shot in the dark…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooooooowww two chapters in one day? Im mcfreaking on it

Gazing at the busyness of the Lit up mill made him realize one thing, that he didn’t belong? No, It’s the fact that he stuck out like the sorest thumb in the lot. Not by how he’s dressed or his colored eyes, but for the fact he’s clearly never done a damn thing like this. “How the bloody hell am I even supposed to find this guy?” He asked himself, fumbling with the pages of his work in his breast pocket.

Stuart decided to ask around the crowd about the man in question, yet not as much help as he was hoping. “Maybe i’m saying the name wrong?” he questioned as he surveyed the eager crowd, spotting a young lady in the dirt back alley.

“Maybe the wrong people..” Making his way across the rowdy sea of patrons, he squirms past a few stragglers before jogging down to the woman unloading vegetables from a cart.

“Excuse me!, Hello Miss? I- um have a question if you cou-” The woman in cleaning rags interrupts his thought out routine with a handful of foreign words, cutting him down harsh as she moved a crate of onions back inside. Her stilted eyes and where dark and her hair even darker as it was hidden by a rag. Her look told him of Asian roots, but which one? was the answer hidden in the spewn words thrown in a very pissed off manner.

As she returned back she rolled her eyes, paying no more attention as she continued to rummaged though the carts. “Gomen'nasai?” He asks sheepishly. She looks to him with eyes of disbelief and waits for him to finish.

“Watashitachi o tetsudatte kuremasu ka?” and although it was spoken brokenly, and with a god awful accent, the words struck the woman’s interest as she leans against the cart and stares him down.

“Where the hell you learn MY language?” Her voice sounded harsh but raised enough with her smile to take the gesture of Awe as she hopped on the ledge of the crate.

“oh..I decided to learn some of the language when learning about haiku’s, although in all seriousness Japanese was… a shot in the dark…” She laughs at him and looks with respected fondness as she started to swings her legs.

She was a little thing, much like a small mouse with her squishy cheeks, or a rugged porcelain doll with her fair, dirty skin and ratted clothes.She barley looked thirteen and grimaced at the works of Child Labor laws not being in tact.

“What happened to your eyes?” She asks, uniting the cloth from her short choppy hair

“Oh…um..Horse accident- its called an eight ball fracture”

“Aw you must have, horrid sight” She jest playfully “Sorry, I was rude, what was question?” Her sentences were spaced and thought out, making him appreciate how well she spoke something so foreign to her.

“Im looking for Niccals?, there is a sort of involvement i-i’m supposed to talk with him with, A..Mr Jones? Sent me?” He stumbles, careful to remind himself of the name Hannibal said to use and sighed with relief as her eyes lit up. She inspects him more carefully with questionable looks and shakes her head in a laugh.

“I am, not to question affair's, I am almost done. So I will take you” The helper says while hoping off the cart.

“What is your name?” the mouse asks at the last minute.

“Stuart”

“Noodle” she reply's back.

She grabs another crate, this time tomatoes, telling Stuart bring in the last of the bulging white bags to finish the job faster. He agreed with a nod and shoved both of them under his arms as he followed the small woman though the busybodies of the kitchen. Stuart sets the bags down with a huff and waits silently with jagged breaths till he caught a whiff of something delicious.

Looking around the pantry shelves he noticed the crackled dried meats and cheese of all sizes along the various arrangements of vegetables and fruits packet neatly along other sorts of dried good that he could only image to make the finest meals crafted by masters of the arts.

This wasn’t a good setting for a man who’s been living on wine and stale bread for a few days now.

A war raged in his head about the rights and wrongs of the situation but as his gut got the better of him, he solemnly stole the few grapes that drooped from a shelf nearby. He plops them in his mouth and as the juice filled his senses he swears he could see colors, making a small noise of pleasure as he bit down on the ripeness of the skin. Noodle’s head wipes back at the noise and Stuart hides his mouth in shame, trying to avoid eye contact.

“S-sorry I haven’t eaten today, its been…..busy” Busy was something to say the least.

“Don’t worry, he’ll feed ya, Give ya whole damn plate of grapes if you want” She says with smugness as she fixes her apron. “Now let’s get ya too booth, main show about to start”


End file.
